


Dialogue Prompts

by harin91



Category: Actor RPF, Band of Brothers, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: 200 Dialogue Prompts, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Radio, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Queen (Band) References, Smut, Unknown Number series, fem!Nixon, fem!Speirs, fem!Webster, fem!Winters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-07-29 08:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 10,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20079481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: A collection of drabbles I wrote for various 'Dialogue Prompts' posts on Tumblr





	1. “Get back in bed, you’re not healed yet!” (Sledgefu)

**Author's Note:**

> All the drabbles are **not beta-ed** and **English is not my first language**  
Every chapter will have the selected sentence and pairing in the title
> 
> You can find all these works also on Tumblr at @brightly-painted-canvas, under the '200 dialogue prompts' tag
> 
> Enjoy!

“What d’ya think you doin’ up, Sledgehamma?” is the first thing he hears as he peaks out of his tent.

The strong sun of the Pacific winter stings and burns his eyes and he blinks rapidly, trying to adapt his vision back to a more illuminated scenery than the cot and tent he’d been secluded in for the past two or three days.

As soon as he can muster a glance around the Pavuvu camp, he immediately spots Snafu and Jay lazing under the sun, sitting down to a game of cards and smokes, both looking up at him with matching gazes of apprehension.

Even Snafu’s voice had sounded worried, despite his usual dragging of vowels and loose way of speaking.

“I’m bored.” he replies, opening the flap of his tent completely to take two more wobbly steps out under the sun.

It’s morning, but the temperatures are already high.  
The sun shines bright and white and it’s already making his pale skin burn and break in a sweat.

“Get back ta bed, you not healed yet!” exclaims Snafu, looking strangely conflicted, like he wants to sound intimidating but doesn’t want to upset Eugene.  
Which, for Snafu, it’s an event of the unbelievable kind.

“But I’m _bored_.” he whines, rubbing the back of his hand on his forehead to wipe the sweat and fatigue: “I’ve had enough of sleepin’.” he adds, shaking his head and feeling all the muscles of his back and neck hurt from the long inactivity and the sickness.

Snafu shrugs and sighs and sends a look to Jay that’s probably the most insecure the boy must have seen him, since the younger recoils slightly and gets up, picking at the cards to put the deck back together.

Five minutes later, the three of them plus Burgie are back inside the tent.  
Sledge is once again laying on his cot, having found it too tiring to be standing up while still fighting his fever.  
Snafu and Jay have resumed their game, sitting right by Eugene’s side on the dirty wooden boards of the tent’s floor.  
Burgie is sitting up on Snafu’s cot, reading a book.

When Sledge falls back asleep, losing his personal stubborn battle against the jungle fever, his pale arm is hanging off the bed in a very unnatural position.

Snafu lets his cigarette hang between his lips and gets up to help the sick soldier, repositioning him and making sure he’s not too hot or too cold.

(Burgie and Jay share a look and say nothing).

\---

**Notes:**

Did you know that Sledge caught the heebie-jeebies - or actually just the malaria - when they were back in Pavuvu after the battle of Peleliu? That’s what you discover reading ‘_With the Old Breed_'!


	2. “Am I not enough for you?” (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this was painful to write, to edit and to post...)
> 
> Warning: angst

They’re face to face, armours down, finally looking into the mess they’ve created, finally admitting everything that went wrong.

It took time, it grew slowly, it creeped through the cracks, the unfinished things, the unsaid words.

Harsh words, hurtful words.

The last of what they had to say, had to add, until it’s over, there’s nothing left.

“What did I do wrong?” asks Rami and he sounds so broken, so insecure.

That’s what he is, what he’s always been: a broken, insecure little thing. Something Joe thought could be his to fix, his to mend, his to keep.

“Am I not enough for you!?” screams Rami, standing in front of him, putting himself in the danger of exposure, defenseless under heavy fire.

“That’s… that’s the problem here.” sighs Joe, sounding and looking defeated, devastated.  
He’s surrendering, succumbing.  
“You are too much. Too much _for me_.” he declares and his words sting, crush, hurt, wound.

Rami is out of the door in the blink of an eye: quick enough not to let tears fall in front of the love, the best friend, the ally he just lost.  
Loud enough so he doesn’t hear Joe’s shaky intake of breath, his first sob.


	3. “I’m coming for you, don’t move!” + “I don’t know where I am.” + “You’re burning up.” (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ofc these events never happened irl and what I write is always pure fiction)(sorry for hurting fictional!Rami though)
> 
> Warning: physical hurt / comfort

Joe has always been considered a pretty clumsy guy, but Rami’s clumsiness? That’s legendary.

Joe had known about it for a decade, even before his parter had started being publicly mocked for constantly running into furnitures on set, tripping on red carpets and dropping objects or injuring himself in inexplicable ways during interviews.

He had discovered it on day one of getting to know Rami Malek, coincidentally being also day one of bootcamp as Marines for the HBO series ‘The Pacific’.

They had just been given their uniforms and assigned a tent and a ‘foxhole buddy’ when they’d been told they’d start with something ‘simple and easy’: being dropped in the middle of an Australian pluvial forest with nothing but an old map to orient themselves, with their full gears and WWII riffles (which, by the way, only shot blanks) and with two hours of time to find the path back to the camp.

They had been divided in pairs and sent out with a salute and a ‘good luck, Marines’ that sounded a bit ominous.

Not even twenty minutes into their attempt at finding their bearings and moving around the forest, after Joe had already quoted all of his own ‘Jurassic Park’ character’s most famous lines, in a few moments of distraction he lost Rami completely.

“Fuck!” he swore, looking around with a rising sense of panic: “Snafu!?” he called, remembering they’d been told to always refer to other members of the cast with their characters’ names.

Receiving no answer and unable to see the other actor in the thick vegetation of the forest, he called again a few more times until he heard a faint: “Sledge!” that sounded equally disoriented and panicked.

“I’m coming for you, don’t move!” he replied immediately, starting to move through the plants and trees in the vague direction toward Rami’s voice.

“I don’t know where I am.” said loudly the other, adding: “In a ditch or something…” in a lower but still audible voice.

Joe found him leaning against the side of a hole in the heavily rooted ground, covered in dirt and holding his left arm close to his chest with his right hand, his riffle slung over his back.

“Looking for Wonderland, dear Alice?” he tried to joke, looking down at Rami who just clicked his tongue looking disappointed in himself.

“I think I’ve fucked up my elbow or something…” he sighed.

“Let’s get you back to camp then, so we can have it checked.” proposed Joe, trying to sound calmer than how the whole situation had made him.  
He reached out to help Rami up and then tried his damn best to get them both safely back to civilization.

The camp doctor said Rami’s arm was fortunately only sprained and was going to be fine in a few days. He suggested complete rest and prescribed him anti-inflammatory pills saying he could also experience a slight fever rise in the next hours as a consequence of the trauma.

So when Rami started wobbling on his seat at dinner and trashing around in his cot, Joe figured out he had to intervene, worrying Rami might worsen his injury.

“You’re burning up.” he declared, feeling Rami’s temperature with a hand over his forehead like his mother always did to him when he was little.

Rami just grumbled, having been in a grumpy mood all evening, but accepted Joe’s help with taking his pills and making sure his arm was perfectly immobilised as he lay back down on the mattress.

“Such a Marine I’d have been.” mumbled Rami as Joe was still sitting on his cot right next to him, looking down at him with a smile that tried to be reassuring.

“Do you think they’ll recast me?” he asked after a while, sounding insecure.

“No, they won’t.” replied Joe, sure of it.  
Both Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg had been so charmed by Rami’s acting and interpretation of Snafu that they’d never recast him for a minor injury on the first day of a month long bootcamp.

Rami nodded and tried to smile back at him, despite still feeling down, frustrated by his own clumsiness.

After that first accident, Joe demonstrated countless of time how much he was almost the same breed of clumsy specimen.

Rami demonstrated how recasting was absolutely not necessary, recovering in just a few days and giving an excellent performance on set when production started.

And they both learnt how to care for each other when they, inevitably, did something that resulted in weird injuries.


	4. “You can sleep, I’ll keep you safe.” (Sledgefu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: emotional hurt / comfort

There are nights of quiet sleep and nights of nightmares.

It’s how it is when the mind is forever stuck on moments in the past that could never be forgotten, flashes of things seen that could never be erased, never to be substituted with new, fond and happy memories of a new life, a better life, a life at peace.

Sometimes it’s Eugene screams, some other times it’s Merriell’s trashing.

At some point in the night they’re both awake, lying next to each other, close enough to touch when touch could feel too much and uncomfortable; touching when contact is needed and sometimes even feels not reassuring enough.

“You can sleep now, I’ll keep you safe.” they’d say to each other, to the one selected to fight his demons that night.  
It always feels like a memory of nights in foxhole without the comfort of a bed or a roof above them, without nightmares somehow, but with the same solid, warm presence of the same body next to them.

Always and forever there.  
Always and forever keeping each other safe.


	5. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?” (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Radio speaker AU, fluff

There’s a new radio speaker at the studio Joe works for.  
It’s a guy with dark curly hair and beautiful big grey eyes and his voice is deep and soothing and so, so nice to listen to.

Joe always sees him in the evening, coming down the corridor toward him, going the exact opposite way as he is at the end of his shift.  
The man always stops at the Studio 4 door with a large cup of coffee and a literal ream of papers, greeting and chatting with Joe’s colleagues, the other sound technicians.

_He must be in charge of the nighttime show_ he thinks the first time he sees him and proceeds to switch on the car’s radio on his way back home.  
That’s how he hears Rami Malek’s voice for the first time.  
(and how he learns the cute boy’s name).

One evening he stays until late, finishing the mixing of a show due the following morning.

Running down the corridor toward the exit, he sees the door of Studio 4 slightly open and peers inside to say bye to the colleagues still at work.  
There’s only Ben and he begs Joe to cover for him so he can go have a smoke.

“I should already be at home, just so you know.” he whines.

“C’mon mate, I’m almost in withdrawal. Look.” begs Ben, showing his slightly shaking hands (he could be faking it very well, though).

“You owe me a beer.” he declares, sitting down on Ben’s chair as the other bolts out of the studio with his pack of cigarettes.

Joe sees the on air sign switched on and, putting on Ben’s headphones, he can hear the transmission still playing the second chorus of a famous rock song of the 70s.

Peering up from the deck of consoles and trough the glass of the studio booth, he can see Rami at his chair, microphone pushed to the side, bent over the desk furiously writing some notes on his papers.

When the song has almost ended and Rami is finally satisfied with what he’s written, he looks up expecting to see Ben and finds a tech he never worked with before, but always saw in the corridors of the studio.

He’s around his age, with auburn hair and a slightly reddish scruff, pale skin and the nicest, kindest smile Rami has ever seen.

He’s asked about the man, to be honest: Ben seems to know him well so he just mentioned it during a commercial break, asking for a name. It’s Joe.  
And now Joe is in his studio.

They look at each other for a couple of seconds, then Joe pushes the intercom button and says: “I’m covering for Ben for a few minutes.” and adds: “I’m Joe.”

“Rami.” he replies with a shy smile, not completely realising there’s really no need for them to repeat their names.

A few beats and Rami is back on air. He talks about the song they just listened to and then announces the next track.

All the while, Joe has found a white board and a marker and he’s writing messages on it, to keep talking with Rami without having to interrupt him.

_I like your show_ is the first thing he writes, to which Rami replies with a cute smile: _your voice brings me home_ and _literally, I drive listening to you_ and so on.

Rami can’t stop the live show to reply, but nods and tries to hold back a laugh and he is feeling more and more like he could really, really like getting to know Joe better.

“The last track of our ‘_Rock from the 70s_’ section is Queen’s ‘_You’re my best Friend_’, a single contained in their ‘_A Night at the Opera_’ album of 1975.” Rami is explaining to the audience.

He briefly looks up to catch a glimpse of what Joe has written on the board and confuses the words as he says: “Written by bass guitarist John Deacon as a letter for his wife to tell her… _do you want to get dinner sometime?_”.

He realises his mistake and freezes, looking with wide eyes at Joe, still holding the white board with his question for Rami on it.

“Here it is!” he exclaims not to leave the audience to deal with awkward radio silence after his slip-up, and pushes the button to start the song.

He then pushes the microphone aways and sighs loudly, looking back up to Joe who shrugs and smiles amusedly, knowing their audience is surely having the same reaction over Rami’s cute and unexpected mistake.

Rami just flips over one of his notes, writes a big and clear ‘YES’ on it and shows it to Joe, before adding ‘but next time ask me out on a commercial break’.

Freddie Mercury is singing ‘_oooh you make me live!_’ when Joe replies with an excited thumb up and Rami is doing his best not to laugh out loud and consequently risk getting fired.


	6. “Where did all those bruises come from?” + “Did you have another nightmare?” (Andyeddie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: physical hurt / comfort

“Eds,” comes Andy’s voice from outside the bathroom door: “Can I come in?”

_No,_ he wants to reply_ no, stay out of this. Please, don’t get yourself involved in this_ he’s screaming inside his head.  
But he just nods silently and waits for Andy to take the hint and to push the door open, look at him bent by the sink, still in his pyjamas, splashing cold water on his face and arms.

“Where did all those bruises come from?” asks Andy getting closer, forcing Eddie to look up and show him the already swollen black eye and the split lip, the marks and scratches on the inside of his arms.

There’s new ones and old ones.  
Angry red, blotchy, black and blue signs of anger, desperation. Depression.

Andy looks at him and he looks back, holding the heavy, knowing gaze in his bright eyes, daring him to say something meaningless, something to cheer him up, something he’d hate Andy for.

“Did you have another nightmare?” asks Andy instead and it must be the way he says it, so open and earnest, that makes Eddie choke on the harsh words he had been brewing and swallow.

He nods again, his shoulders sinking in defeat.

He’s broken, he knows. Andy knows.  
Captain Haldane found himself a broken First Lieutenant who has nightmares of the war so violent he hurts himself, he wakes up in tears and blood and pain.

But when Andy pulls him close and hugs him, he’s healing again.  
He’s being patched, mended, sewn back together.


	7. “Do you want me to get more blankets?” + “Hey… you’re awake!” (Andyeddie)

_Dying of hypothermia on a fucking tropical island in the middle of the fucking Pacific ocean would be one hell of a joke_, thinks Eddie sinking inside his foxhole, clutching at his cup of coffee with trembling fingers.

Truth is, him and the men are all soaking wet for the torrential rain that have been pouring on them since morning, but as soon as the sun had set the rain had stopped. With darkness, though, came a strong oceanic breeze, chilly and pungent, taking by surprise even the more seasoned soldiers, even the officers.

Someone sneezes again, someone else coughs and Eddie wishes he could do something more than get back up, offer sips of coffee, suggest his men to wear their ponchos and change into dry clothes if they had any.

The night is dark and they have to keep quiet, turn off all sources of light, defend themselves and their buddies from Japanese incursions.

He’s back in his foxhole when Andy appears out of seemingly nowhere, making him jump and clutch at his riffle before he recognises him, his green uniform and the rank patches on his arms, the pin on his helmet.  
He’s carrying something under his right arm, something he hands to Eddie as soon as he’s said his greetings.

“Got some blankets from the rear. The boys all have been given one. This is yours.” he explains and Eddie is suddenly sighing in relief, quickly unfolding the blanket with shaking hands to wrap it around himself.

He sinks in the feeling of warmth and protection, barely registering Andy’s voice telling him to try and sleep, that he’ll keep watch.

“Eddie… Eds, do you want me to get more blankets?” he hears as he wakes up, realising he’s been shaking like a leaf, face half-buried under the green military blanket, nose itching from the scratchy material.

He looks up at Andy, still in his crutched alerted position, gazing out in the dark of the night and now wearing his own blanket over his shoulders.

He shifts slightly and shakes his head: Andy looks briefly at him to beam warmly and exclaim: “Hey… you’re awake!” like it’s a surprise.

“How long have I’ve been gone?” he asks, confused and disoriented.

“Not long, but I wasn’t sure… you looked very pale.” says softly Andy, shaking his head like he wants to discard a wrong thought.

Eddie just rubs at his eyes and gets up, joins Andy at the edge of the foxhole to look around, make sure the boys are all safe, all in their spots.

“It’s like having kids, isn’t it?” he hears Andy whisper and he scoffs, not really sure if the Captain is talking about having to take care of K Company or having to take care of _him_.

“Whatever, if they’re the kids then you’re the mother.” he comments.

“Deal.” is Andy’s confident reply and Eddie has to sigh and shake his head and cover his fond smile with a cough.


	8. “Your hands are so warm!” (Winnix)

Everything is cold in Bois Jaques.

Everything is white as snow and still and quiet and very, very cold. The shaving brush and razor are cold, water freezes in the canteens, hands and feet go numb after less than a minute of inactivity.

There’s nothing much to do in the CP tent when there are no reports from the front lines and there have been no incursions by Col. Sink and his minions, so Dick just sits around and, consequently, has been experiencing numb limbs for hours.

That’s it, until Lew finally walks out of his ‘cave’ of tarp and blankets and ventures outside looking for coffee to spike and food to scarf down.

“Is it the morning or the afternoon?” he asks, blinking quickly to adapt his dark eyes to the white light reverberating on the snow.

“It’s the middle of the night.” replies Dick sarcastically, his tone flat but his teeth chattering so loud he feels betrayed by his own body.

“And you’re waking me up? Rude.” snickers Nixon, walking around the tent in search of rations.

“Here.” says Dick, handing out the cup of lukewarm (almost frosted, to be fair) coffee he’d been clutching in his frozen hands until that moment.Lew sends him a thankful look and doesn’t hesitate to gulp down the last of it.

He sits down on the log Dick is occupying, eyes wandering over the desolate expanse of snow and trees surrounding them, then fixing his gaze on Winters’ shaking fingers.

He moves swiftly, catching Dick by surprise: in a beat Nixon is holding both his hands, trying to instill some warmth in his frozen fingers.

“Your hands are so warm!” exclaims Dick, the loudest sound this tiny plot of forest has heard in a while, his tone awed and confused like one of a child.

“Yeah, the only positive side of having gross sweaty hands in every other environment.” he comments, amused by the other’s reaction.

“Shall I nominate you my own personal hand warmer.” are Dick’s solemn words after a while, when Nix has let his hands go and he’s stretching his warmed-up fingers.

“Oh, so _that_’s why you woke me up, you tyrant!” jokes Lew, making them laugh.


	9. “Your hair’s so soft…” + “Please stay.” (Winnix)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: hurt /comfort

They haven’t _fought_. They don’t fight.

But they’ve come close to that, ignoring each other for a while, going through their businesses for the day separately, a surprising sight for those used to always see them together, along, in unison.

(_”Captain Nixon is back, right sir? Where is he?” asks Luz like of course Dick would know_)  
(_”Nixon?” goes Speirs some times later: “I saw him on the jeep, thought he’d be with you.”_)  
(_”When you see him, sir, can you tell Captain Nixon there’s mail for him?” says Vest at the post office_)

_“You’ve been demoted.”_

_“Demoted, right. Got it.”_

They haven’t fought, but they aren’t speaking and Dick is confused while (he knows) Lew is hurting.

He finds Lew on the bedroom floor of the house he’s billeted in.  
It’s late in the evening and it took Dick all these hours to figure out he should come see him, be the one offering the olive branch even though they haven’t really fought.

Nixon is shivering like they’re back in Bastogne, but on closer inspection he also looks pale and sweating, as if he’s fighting a fever.  
Withdrawal may look like that, Dick thinks.

“Please tell me there’s still a bottle in your footlocker.” he hears coming from Lew’s cracked lips but he just shakes his head, not even dignifying that with a spoken answer.

He sits down right next to him at the foot of the bed, stretching his legs on the wooden floor, feeling Lew’s head lolling right and left until there’s warmth on his shoulder and his cheek brushes on dark and messy locks of hair.

He reaches for Lew’s forehead with his hand, checking for a temperature, combing the curls back up and out of Nixon’s face.

“Your hair’s so soft…” he says in awe, like he’s said countless other times, like they haven’t just had the closest thing to a fight happening between them.

Lew just sighs and Dick can’t tell if he’s amused or just tired.

“I’m sorry, Lew.” he declares, but he’s not even sure what he’s sorry for. There are lots of things he’d probably be sorry for.  
“I’m just glad you’re back with us, so I can keep you close.” _Keep an eye on you_ he doesn’t say, because he’s not even sure it hasn’t always been the other way around: he needs Lew to keep him safe, keep and eye on him.

Nixon doesn’t react.

After a while, Dick moves to push himself up, maybe help the other reach the bed, sleep in a better position.  
Lew’s hand stops him, surprises him clawing at his thigh, at the fabric of his trousers.

“Please stay.” he mumbles, tiredly: “Stay a little while.” he adds as an afterthought, because maybe not giving an indication of time it’s still too much, too early for them.  
It’s not.

They’ve fought for the first time, today.

And Dick just stays.


	10. "You're my new pillow" (Baberoe)

Babe is a happy/sleepy drunk.

He is fun to be around when he’s drunk because he usually just laughs at everything Bill and Joe say, even when they’re being serious; he flails around colliding with people and furniture, rolling on car seats and couches and beds, lazily sprawling on them like a big cat; it takes him less than 10 seconds to fall asleep once he’s comfortable, absolutely unaware of his surroundings, uncaring if he accidentally sleeps on other people, in public places.

Which is exactly the situation at hand: Babe is that level of drunk, he’s that level of sleepy and the last train they catch to get home from the city is packed with people, leaving him, Bill, Fran, Joe and George all scattered around the coach, all sitting next to strangers.

Babe is completely unaware of that.

That’s why at some point he starts giggling and Bill watches in disbelief and growing horror as his best friend leans toward the guy sitting next to him, resting his head of dishevelled red hair on the stranger’s shoulder and declaring loudly and excitedly: “You’re my new pillow!”

The stranger blushes furiously and gasps, having been quietly reading and listening to music and not understanding why all of sudden he’s being used as a resting surface by a clearly drunk unfamiliar man.

He’s around their age, possibly a student: he’s pale and handsome, with jet black hair and clear eyes.  
Sober Babe would agree he’s a catch, thinks Bill, but of course only drunk Babe would do something as stupid as this to get his attention.

Bill notices the boy’s panicked gaze as he looks around, probably trying to find a way out of the situation, trying to identify someone who could help him escape.

Babe just smiles and snuggle even closer, burying his face in the stranger’s soft sweater. He’s being extra adorable and Bill should intervene, but he really, really hates when he has to be the one denying Babe his Babe-ness.

Apparently, his intervention is not that necessary: after the first few seconds of panic, the stranger just shakes his head in disbelief, laughs softly and puts his left arm around Babe’s shoulders, keeping him closer.

“Whatever, I’ll be your pillow.” he declares, in a deep soothing voice with a distinct Cajun accent.

George and Joe wolf whistle from across the coach, but Babe is predictably already asleep.


	11. "Want some tea?" (Speirton)

Ever since the pneumonia he caught during the war, whenever the weather turns cold and humid Carwood gets sick.

Ron knows when he wakes up and outside the windows the sky is grey and heavily clouded, when the trees in their garden are swept by a strong cold wind, when the rain turns from a light drizzle to a heavy curtain separating the house from the outside.

He gets up before Carwood on those mornings, padding barefooted (he’s not the one getting sick easily) down the stairs to the kitchen, pouring water in the kettle and putting it on the stove in silence, listening to the rain falling and the steam hissing.

The monotone noises are interrupted by steps coming from upstairs and he hears Carwood coughing and sniffling, getting ready to come down and wrap himself around Ron, rest his warm forehead against the back of his neck, sigh heavily.

“Want some tea?” Ron says then, already pouring hot water in the teapot.

Carwood would always say yes and the warm, sweet tea would always help, somehow.

Just like Ron.


	12. “You want a bite?” (Webgott)

They all get bored during long transfers on the army trucks.

The space is cramped, the roads are bumpy and the scenery might be getting more beautiful the more they travel across Germany and Austria, but it still manages to get extremely monotonous after two or three hours.  
And most days they are on the road for more than three hours.

The one who starts the questions games is alway Luz.

He’d go: “Hey, Perco! What animal do you think Bull is?” and Frank would look at him, pull the toothbrush out his mouth, spit outside the moving vehicle and say: “I don’t know, George… maybe a bull?”

Then everyone else would join in and they would assign an animal to each Easy men, CO included.

“What’s Captain Speirs?” asks innocently Janovec and almost everyone goes: “Magpie!”

“Tab is a ferret!” says someone.

“Hey!” protests Talbert, glancing around to figure out who said that.

They go round and discuss animals in relation with the physical and personality traits of each of them and at some point they get to Liebgott.

Luz takes the floor once again and declares: “Lieb’s a shark.”

Everyone seems to agree (”Get it? ‘Cause of the grin” “And the sharpness” “And the sense of danger”) and the man in question keeps lazily smoking, not bothered by the assignation because he probably consider the selected animal badass enough not to get offended.

“No.” comes suddenly from Webster, and everyone turns to look at him.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” asks Skinny, confused.

“Liebgott can’t be a shark.” he explains.

“Why?” wonders Luz, already rolling his eyes.

“Sharks are majestic creatures mistaken as cruel and cold-blooded killers…” starts lecturing Webster, but then everyone else is already groaning and telling him to shut up.

Liebgott just looks at him with the same amused expression as before. Predatory, almost.

He leans forward, flicking the ash on the tip of his cigarette and asks: “Why so bothered, Web? You want a bite?”.  
He’s showing his teeth then and in that moment they look razor-sharp and oh so dangerous.

All Easy laughs and then move on, discussing which cute animal Babe should be.

When they grow bored and decide to change the game, Webster is still trying to control his flushing face and fast-beating heart.


	13. “I love it when you moan my name” (Webgott)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: (mild) smut

Joe can’t breathe, think, concentrate.

He’s been staring at his hand holding onto the headboard, gripping tightly, painfully for what seems like hours.  
He’s feeling entirely too much: excitement, pleasure, pain all together, indistinguishable.

David is leaning more and more against him, all over his back, growing tired from the relentless pace they’re keeping, but still going, still hitting all the sweet spots, still pushing Liebgott down at every thrust.

It’s fast and feral, they groan and whimper like wounded animals, but that’s how they do it and that’s just how Joe is always gonna have it.

“Joe,” he feels more than hears, kissed against the sweaty skin of his shoulder and suddenly David’s arm is stretching out in his field of vision, his hand is being covered, shielded, held.

“Say my name.” he’s being ordered.  
And yeah, maybe the Joseph Liebgott that exists out of this secluded, locked room doesn’t like to be bossed around by anyone who isn’t authority, but in here he listens.

“C’mon, _Liebling_.” he’s being coaxed, this time with a kiss on his nape, then at the base of his neck, close to his scar: “I love it when you moan my name.” adds David, a confession: “_Sag meinen Namen… meinen Namen, Schatz._”

And Liebgott, if he was still in the right state of mind, he would probably wonder ‘which one?’. But right now he knows without a doubt.  
In here he listens and he complies.

He feels it rising from deep inside him, a bubble of emotions he can’t distinguish or comprehend, a wave of words, just the same sound over and over.  
He’s repeating it, moaning it, crying it out loud.

He clutches David’s hand ad says it again, feeling himself getting closer, feeling tears pricking at his eyes and so he shuts them and sobs ‘David’ over and over.

Like a litany, a prayer and oh, he wished it wasn’t.  
But it is, it is.


	14. "Move as little as possible" + "I think I'm going to puke" + "How many fingers am I holding up?" (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: Rami falling off the stage at the Oscars and Joe running to the rescue.

The moment Joe sees Rami falling off the stage, he bolts out of his seat and down the stairs of the Dolby Theatre so quickly he reaches the other actor faster than the security staff and the Red Cross volunteers.

Rami is being helped up by members of the orchestra and other guests: he’s apologising and blushing and almost bowing his head down shyly, but just one expert look and Joe can already tell the fall had scared him and he maybe well be in pain.

“Hey, take it easy.” he says approaching the other actor and gathering his attention to relieve him from the pressure of being surrounded by worried strangers: “Sit down, move as little as possible.” and thankfully, once Rami realises it’s him, he actually listens and sits down quietly on a front row seat.

They wait for the intervention of two nice Red Cross volunteers, who check briefly for injuries and then let poor Rami breath and try to get up on wobbly legs, still clutching his Oscar like it could provide support and comfort.  
If Joe wasn’t so worried he would have found the sight hilarious.

“What does it takes for you not to hurt yourself at least once a day?” he sighs once they’re alone in a corner backstage and he has Rami propped against the wall, properly able to check on him.

“Apparently not even winning the Oscar works, so cross that right out.” jokes Rami and Joe is at least relieved to hear his usual sassy tone not being affected by the pain he must be feeling.

“Where are you hurt? Shoulder? Arm? I know it’s not the ankle ‘cause you wouldn’t have let the volunteers check it if it was.” he says and they will have to talk about how self-destructing Rami’s tendencies of not trusting strangers with his healthcare are, especially being so incident-prone.

But later.

What matters now is Rami’s little groan of pain as he lifts the one hand not holding the golden statuette to touch his forehead: “Maybe I’ve hit my head on a chair.” he admits weakly and Joe is swearing loudly, immediately checking for bruises and bumps.

“You should sit down.” he adds, guiding Rami to slide and sit on the floor: “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks, showing a peace sign in Rami’s face.

“What the…” starts the other actor, but Joe shushes him immediately: “Answer me!”

“Two! It’s fucking two, Joseph! I haven’t gone blind!” protests loudly the other: “Calm down, I’m fine! I just tripped and fell and maybe hit my head but I’m okay!” he yells and then quiets down, looking at Joe like he’s the one with a probable concussion.

“Are you okay? You’re looking very pale…” notices then Rami, as Joe shakes his head and laughs and then shifts down to sit next to the Oscar winner, sighing: “Hell no. Too many emotions for one night and I’m getting too old to keep up.” he admits.

“I’m older than you and you didn’t have to deliver that speech.” comments Rami, bumping their shoulders together.

“Well I wasn’t the one falling off the stage either, but I think I’m definitely the one going to puke…” he announces dramatically, passing one hand over his face.

Rami laughs and signals for him to get up: “Not on mine or your expensive suit, Mister. C'mon, up.” he orders: “I’ve got places to be.” he declares eventually.

Joe just lets him go and watches him leave to get his interviews done.

And if he lingers backstage instead of rushing to the aftershow party, keeping an eye on his clumsy friend, no one notices or cares.

No one except Rami, of course.


	15. "You're burning up" (Andyeddie)

It’s not often, but sometimes it’s Eddie having to take care of Andy.

Sometimes Andy comes home more tired than usual, looking pale and stressed out, sniffling or coughing ever so often.

Eddie would immediately intervene, knowing well timeliness is key when dealing with a sick Andy, being the man as good in taking care of others as absolutely incapable of taking care of himself. Leave him on his own for too long and he’d for sure transform a simple cough in a pneumonia.

Eddie would steer him toward the couch and sit by his side to check his temperature.  
More often than not he’d sigh and say: “You’re burning up.” with both apprehension and resignation.

Then he’d do the whole fanfare: medicine, blankets, pillows and even chicken or vegetables soup. He’d be the best, the most perfect and caring nurse for Andy.

Because in his place, he knew, Andy would always do exactly the same for him.


	16. "I can't even look at you" "Why can't you look at me?" ( Winnix)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: angst

“Lew, this… it can’t go on like this.” I say, looking over the mess he made of the hotel room, the empty crates of empty bottles, the intel documents forgotten and scattered all over the floor and furnitures.

Taking all in, but not him. Purposely not looking at him.

He groans like he’s still drunk and maybe he is.

“Leave me alone, Winters!” he cries and the surname use feels so impersonal, so different from what we’re used to, so wrong: “You don’t understand… how could you understand?” he’s mumbling, almost unintelligible sounds.

I march toward the door, nodding to myself, like I’ve just received an order, like I know I have to move and stop watching as my best friend, the person I care the most in the world wastes away.

“I can’t even look at you like this.” I point out softly, almost unsure if I want to be heard.

This somehow feels like a defeat and I don’t like defeats.

“Why can’t you look at me, uh? What do you care…” he’s provoking, but I am already out of the door, not turning back, not looking.


	17. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.” “Shut up and kiss me.” (Winnix)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fem!Winnix - modern AU

It was the New Year and Louise Nixon was, predictably, drunk as a skunk and very satisfied about it.

The last semester of college had been absolute hell, with Professor Etta Sobel’s classes on Roman military history at the top of the horror scale.  
Louise had been good at classical history studies, one of the best students at Yale, before they changed professorship and Sobel’s reign of terror had started.

This evening party had been well needed to let the pent up stress go and enjoy winter vacation before having to return to campus and dive right back into her De Bello Gallico books and notes.

The party was being held at his grandparents estate in New Jersey and a lot of young people her age had been invited along their parents, to meet the American higher society of wealthy and refined people they were soon going to be a part of after graduation.

Louise couldn’t care less about the rich, old couples her parents and grandparents had business with, so with all the other college students and younger-than-30 guests she had snuck out of the main mansion and set up an alternative party in the dependance, with music and booze and the most good-looking descendants of wealth in the United States.

Included one Ruth Winters, daughter of daddy Nixon’s most reliable business consultant, the girl Louise had been chasing after for decades.

With red hair and blue eyes and a smile to die for, how could Louise resist?

That was why, for the entire duration of the evening, she had been resolutely following his plan of getting drunk enough to work up the courage to ask Ruth out and maybe get a midnight kiss, being it the New Year and all.

Getting drunk was for sure being the easiest part of the plan (Lou could well be world champion at it), but striking up a conversation with Winters only happened after Diane Kenya Webster (Lou’s most loyal friend from childhood, despite the literature student deciding to become an Harvard alumni and leaving Louise alone at Yale with crazy Rosemary Speirs as a roommate) shove her down on the empty couch seat next to Ruth and then immediately disappeared with a lame excuse, leaving them alone.

Lou just laughed nervously and then almost hysterically, catching Ruth’s attention but only because the polite redhead turned to look at her and asked in a concerned tone: “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, just… having fun. Chillin’, you know?” she replied, not sure if she could handle looking directly into Ruth’s beautiful eyes.  
She just stared down at her last glass of wine, wishing for a second Diane would come back with a bottle of Vat 69 from her grandfather’s stash.  
She needed far more booze in her system to have a conversation with her crush.

“And you? Having fun?” she asked, still laughing aimlessly.

Ruth didn’t reply, but she suddenly shifted closer, lifting her hand to brush Louise’s long dark strands of hair out of her face (funny, she hadn’t realised they were half covering her eyes!).

“Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.” she apologised quickly, looking shy.

And see better she did, because suddenly they were face to face and closer than ever, looking directly into each other’s eyes and Ruth seemed strangely breathless, pink in the face, awestruck. Could be…?

Around them the other guests had turned very quiet, then suddenly they heard cheering and a loud countdown being chanted.

“I… I mean, are you…” was blabbering Ruth, but Louise’s intoxicated mind was already telling her to _carpe diem_ (damned Sobel and her Latin sayings!) before the situation turned weird and awkward: she placed her index finger on Ruth’s half-open mouth and ordered: “Shut up and kiss me.” in a breathless whisper, right when the countdown was reaching the 3… 2…1…

And, in retrospect, that could have turned the situation weird and awkward, but Nixon realised it a bit too late and it was midnight of the New Year anyway.  
What was done was done.

And what was done caused Ruth to close her eyes and crush their lips together, giving Louise Nixon her first kiss of the New Year and (possibly)(hopefully) of their long lives of shared love and romance.


	18. "Talk to me. You can’t take on all of this alone” (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: "either on the pacific or borhap when Joe sees Rami's getting overwhelmed by filming or bad things happening on set."
> 
> Warning: hurt / comfort

It was a thing.  
One of those ‘Rami and Joe’ things that everyone who had worked with them labelled as theirs, as something they were able to do once completely engrossed in acting.

They spoke to one another through looks and gestures, through touches and smiles or little grimaces.  
There was no need for them to talk on set, because they completely understood one another silently, perfectly tuned together since the early days of Marines boot camp before ‘The Pacific’.

Except some times, their thing just wasn’t enough.  
Some times work was too hectic, shots kept being repeated, pain became too much to endure… and words were needed.  
Explanations, sometimes tears, followed by comfort, little soothing promises.

“Talk to me. You can’t take on all of this alone.” said Joe, steering Rami someplace quiet where they could have this conversation.  
_I see you struggling_, _I want to help_ conveyed easily through a soft look into Rami’s big pale eyes.

“I don’t want them to think that I don’t know how to do this…” he heard Rami sigh, voice tinted with unshead tears: “Even though… I’m so confused by how things are going I have no idea _what_ we’re doing half the time, let alone how to do it.” he confessed, quietly under his breath.

Joe just kept quiet, stroking one hand up and down Rami’s arm.

“I don’t wanna look insecure.” added the other actor, looking away in defeat: “But I… I am, Joe. I don’t… don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.” he sobbed.

Joe hugged him, letting Rami hide his teary face against his shoulder and neck, stroking his back and cupping his head to keep him as close as possible.

“I’m here. We’re all together in this, Rami. You don’t have to do this all alone… you’re not alone.” he kept repeating, calming and soothingly, whispers against the other’s ear as the tear quieted down.

_I’ve go you_ was in his touches, the way his body was shielding Rami’s, just for a little while, keeping him sheltered.


	19. “Oh god.. I’m in-love with an idiot.” (Baberoe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humor/Random prompt with Band of Brother's Baberoe from my long fic [Unknown Number](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014685/chapters/45155737)

Eugene and Edward have been dating for a few weeks now and things are _good_.

Edward is nice, awfully optimistic, authentic and, most of all, he makes Eugene laugh effortlessly, every time, for the most incredible small things, making his stressed trainee doctor life so much easier to bear.

He likes Edward so much already, which is also very good. His mom likes Edward too, which is ultimately good. Merriell doesn’t like Edward still, but that’s a given with his cousin, so Eugene doesn’t even bother trying to make the two of them get along: they’ll come around, at some point.

And yes, Edward can be a bit obtuse, sometimes: he can be dense and oblivious and unreasonably silly, but in Eugene’s eyes that’s still mostly a quality of his wholesome personality, so he can overlook some dumb comments or brainless impulsive decisions in favour of all the nice things this relationship is bringing to his life.

_Almost_ all the time.

Which means: except that night they’re coming home from the Currahee, walking from the bus station to the Roes on the empty and quiet sidewalk and Merriell is smoking a cigarette a few feet behind them and they are silently, contentedly holding hands.

That night, in that moment, Edward apparently sees the shadow of something moving on the grass of a nearby house. He stops in his track, catching the cousins by surprise and almost colliding with a still walking Merriell.

He looks attentively for a few more seconds at the spot where he has seen the movement and then, gripping Eugene’s hand for dear life, he shrieks: “ALLIGATOOOR!” at the top of his lungs and sprints on, dragging a baffled Eugene with him.

“What’s wrong with you?!” he asks once Edward’s trained football player legs have made them reach the Roes house’s alley. Merriell is right behind them, a little slower and for once stunned silent for the absurdity of what has just happened.

“There was a big fucking_ thing_ in that yard!” yells Edward and he immediately gets shushed by both cousins, knowing he’s probably going to wake up the entire neighbourhood and, worstly, their mothers.

“Yeah and _what_? Was it attacking you? Was it looking at you in a weird way? Was it wearing a long raincoat and did it look completely naked under it?” jokes Merriell, still completely bewildered by the situation.

“No! It was just… just _there_. _How_ are you guys not worried?!” asks Edward, suddenly realising he’s the only one freaking out.

Eugene sighs, massaging his temples and closing his eyes: “We’re used to it, Edward. They live around here, this is their home.” he explains.

“What?! For _real_?!” exclaims Edward, still not completely following the order to keep his voice down. Merriell growls and looks less and less amused by the minute.

“I thought that was a legend! Like the things they say to little kids to make them behave? Don’t walk alone in the woods ‘cause there’s the wolf or something. I thought little kids in the South got eaten by alligators.” explained without really a clear explanation Edward, blabbering a little: “Did any of your friends in the neighbourhood got eaten by an alligator, Gene?” he asked, eyes big and preoccupied.

Eugene just widens his arms in surrender, looking past Edward straight to his cousin’s judgmental expression to declare: “Oh god… I’m in love with an idiot.”  
And that’s when he basically realises.  
But also decides he doesn’t care.

Edward sees the alligator in broad daylight some weeks later.

He names it Roxanne and becomes very fond of her, naturally.


	20. “Have you always been this beautiful?” (Webgott)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff prompt with Band of Brother's Webgott

“Web!” he hears calling from the living room as soon as he steps through the threshold.

“No, I don’t want to!” he answers, huffing a little, juggling the two heavy bags of groceries in his arms while fumbling with the keys and the front door’s lock.

“Oh, c’mon you mean bastard!” groans back the voice, and he rolls his eyes as he tries to step out of his shoes, spotted wet for the snow outside.

“If we’re already resolving to insults it’s a categorical no from me, Joseph.” he admonish, stepping inside the kitchen with only his humid socks on, placing both bags on the table.

There’s silence from the living room for a few seconds, then as soon as he starts putting the groceries away Joe calls again: “Love of my life.”

“Don’t you even start with that, or I swear…” he threatens, opening the fridge to stash eggs and milk inside.

“Dearest, most beloved soul!” exclaims undeterred Joe, and his voice is coming closer now, like he’s finally decided to get up from the couch and join David in the kitchen instead of shouting endearments from one side of the house to the other: “_Mein kleiner Schatz, wie ich dich liebe…_” he goes on.

“_Aufhören, du Idiot._” he sighs, lifting his gaze from the cupboard under the sink just in time to see Joe appear from the corridor and theatrically fake doing a double take, with even a hand on his heart.

“_Mein Gott!_” he cries: “Have you always been this beautiful?” he sighs dreamily, battling his eyelashes at David who’s trying his best to still look annoyed at him while inside he’s repressing the biggest laugh at his boyfriend’s silly antics.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” he declares, lifting his nose resolutely and turning around to reach for a can of beans to store in the cupboard.

Joe plants himself between him and the cabinet, leaning back against it and smiling mischievously: “Does it truly, Dave?” he asks, the playful superior tone of someone who know he’s won.

David blinks at him, trying to catch his breath, failing to recover: “That’s a low blow!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, _David_, my one true love…” purrs Joe, suddenly very close, placing his arms on his shoulders to entwine his fingers behind his neck, stepping unapologetically in his boyfriend’s personal space: “How could I hurt you, my smart, beautiful, _always compliant_ better half?” he asks rhetorically, doe eyes now fixed on David’s mouth as he licks absentmindedly his own bottom lip, knowing fully well that’s something that always drives the other insane.

“Why are you doing this, Joe?” sighs David, placing his hands on Joe’s hips to hug him near, practically admitting defeat: “Why do you care so much?”

“It snowed and I really really want to snowball fight?” says Joe, even tilting his head slightly, like it’s obvious and David is just being extremely dense.

“But you always beat me.” whines David in reply, pouting exaggeratedly.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re shit at it. That’s the funny part.” agrees Joe, squeezing David’s cheeks with one hand to get him closer and kiss him on his still pouting lips. Then, satisfied, he steps out of the embrace and orders: “Go get your shoes back on, private.”

“_Ugh_.” he huffs, but still complies anyway.


	21. "Your collarbone has my name tattooed on it." (Webgott)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humor/Random prompt with Band of Brother's Webgott - Soulmate AU

They always found the most foolish and annoying things to do when they had to pass the time while on occupation duty.

The last stupid idea they’d had conceived consisted in stationing outside a billeted house overlooking the main square of the little Austrian village they were assigned and shout useless things at the passers-by. Austrian girls received flirts and old, mushy catch-phrases they mostly didn’t understand anyway and usually only replied with a half-sketched smile while speeding up their pace.

Other soldiers usually got even worse cat-calls and merciless descriptions contoured with whistles and laughters.

Of course Luz had the most creative things to say about anyone, friends and strangers equally. The others usually followed his lead, adding details to his accurate descriptions.

The most audacious thing was involve other less suspected people in their shenanigans, like that time they convinced Webster to join them and describe each passer with his rich vocabulary and poetic flair.

It had all been fun and games until the oblivious person crossing the street in their direction had been Liebgott and Christenson had dared Webster to shout at him the most rancid catch-up line he could forge in the span of a few seconds.

“Hey, Joe! _JOE_! _Your collarbone has my name tattooed on it_, baby!” he shouted, only halfway realising who he was talking to and what he was saying.

He caught up on his mistake as soon as Liebgott’s expression changed from careless and relaxed to annoyed and furious. Everybody else had already started laughing, having expected the enraged reaction, but they stopped as soon as they saw the technician fasten his pace to reach them, all the while yanking down the collar of his fatigues and screaming: “Yeah _it fucking DOES_, you fucking brainless moron! Have you finally decided to do something about it?!” and of course, there in plain view over Liebgott’s pale and freckled collarbone, sat in black ink and in an elegant handwriting, the name ‘David Kenyon Webster’.

How Webster had forgotten that Liebgott was his soulmate and that he actually had his name tattooed on his skin was beyond anyone’s comprehension. Together with the fact that apparently they both had known to be destined to be together for years but never acted on it in any way.

“What the fuck, boys.” groaned Luz, scandalised and disappointed: “I can’t believe you managed to ruin yet another game!” he added, whining and huffing like a little child.


	22. “Put the brick down and walk away slowly.” (Speirton)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humor/Random prompt with Band of Brother's Speirton - Professors AU

On Monday, the students interrupt Carwood’s lunch break to take him to the courtyard and show him Professor Dike’s office window in shatters.****

He reports the accident to Principal Sink, goes back to his lunch and the odd occurrence is easily forgotten except for when he’s having his usual coffee break with Professor Winters and Professor Nixon and they, obviously, share some gossip.

On Tuesday, the window gets repaired and Professor Dike goes back to his office.

On Wednesday, another brick gets thrown at the same window and this time it’s not Carwood who makes the report.

Also this time, Principal Sink summons all professors after classes and asks them to keep an eye on the kids, trying to identify who the hooligan might be.  
“Shouldn’t Professor Dike tell us if any of the students has recently misbehaved in one of his classes?” proposes Carwood, and he’s met with blank stares and silence: “Maybe? As a start?” he tries again, but Dike doesn’t talk and Sink sends them all home with yet another quibble to solve and another task to manage.

On Thursday, the window gets repaired again.

On Friday, after having interviewed his students and having discovered that Professor Dike hasn’t had troubles with any of them, but had animatedly argued about something with another professor, Carwood decides to have his lunch break outside.

He sits on a low wall facing the windows of the professors’ offices and waits.

It’s not long until a figure appears, oblivious of his presence there, carrying a big brick in one hand.

“Hey!” calls Carwood, standing up and leaving his half-eaten sandwich on the wall, catching the other’s attention: “Stop right there.”

“Or what?” asks the other person and Carwood recognises him as Professor Speirs, a History teacher from another department. So the students had been right about it.

The man doesn’t seem deterred by Carwood’s presence or particularly bothered by having been discovered. He stops and lifts his hand, clearly aiming at Professor Dike’s window.

“Wait, no!” exclaims Carwood, taken by surprise by the other man’s response (or lack of it), trying to make sense of what he’s seeing: “Put the brick down and walk away slowly.” he orders, lifting his hands as to be ready to anticipate any reaction Professor Speirs might have.

Professor Speirs just blinks at him and shrugs, ignoring his threats.

“No.” he blankly says, ready to throw.

“What even has caused this?!” asks Carwood, bewildered.

He doesn’t expect the other to dignify him with an answer, but then Speirs turns around to face him and says: “He’s insulted the memory of the great Gaius Julius Caesar.”

Carwood nods, then frowns, then sighs deeply: “Alright. Wanna talk about it?”

And that’s, more or less, how Professor Lipton stops the ‘window incident’ to happen for a third time.

On Monday, Ron asks him out.


	23. "I don't think I'll ever be able to live without you." (Mazlek)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff prompt with Rami Malek and Joe Mazzello

Rami is not one for big declarations of love, for daily ‘I love you’ reminders and for constant, mushy and sappy words of adoration.

Joe is.

While Rami is more an actions and intentions type of man, Joe is all about words and meanings and expressing his feelings right in the moment.

Rami struggles for days when he has to write a speech, while Joe types whatever he feels like saying on social media constantly, earnestly, no big deal.

They complete each other like this, too, and it’s perfect as it is.

But that’s exactly why it takes Joe by surprise when they’re lying on the couch at 5pm on a Sunday afternoon, watching cooking shows, still in their pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and eating cookies with nowhere else to go for the day and nothing else to do but cuddle and nap together. When Rami sighs: “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live without you.” against his temple before softly kissing his hairline, Joe’s breath catches in his chest and his heart swells and he’s rendered speechless for a few seconds, eyes still fixed to the screen even though he’s not watching and understanding the show anymore.

He feels Rami’s pliant, warm body around his, a smile against his skin as he ducks his blushing face down in the crook of Joe’s neck and shoulder and, for the first time, he lets Rami be the man of words in their history.

He lifts Rami’s hand and kisses his knuckles and rests there, in his arms, satisfied and contented and so, so in love.

_Me too_, he thinks, closing his eyes.


	24. "Happy birthday, Mr. President" (Webgott)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random prompt with Band of Brother's Webgott - could be seen as a snippet from my long fic [Unknown Number](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014685/chapters/45155737)

The clock on his phone signals 00:01 when he gets a message from Joe that says ‘_happy birthday mr president_’ with attached a gif of Marilyn Monroe’s famous performance.

He smiles and texts back: ‘_Do I get my own reedition too if I ask nicely?_’ before closing his laptop. He leans back against the backrest, stretching and yawning. He’s once again lost track of time and studied well into the night. The night before his birthday, to be more precise.

His phone chirps again and there’s a quick reply: ‘_ask nicely_’.

He looks for a gif of something cute with pleading eyes and writes ‘_Please, Miss Monroe?_’ to go with it.

He gets up, switches off the light on his desk and reaches the bed, throwing himself heavily on it, sighing in relief as his back hits the soft mattress and his muscles adapt to the new, relaxed position.

He’s already almost slowly drifting when he hears the ringtone of Joe’s FaceTime call and feels his phone vibrating in his hand.

He lifts it to reply, waiting for Joe’s image to appear on the screen. He’s illuminated by a soft orange light and is holding his electric blue ukulele close to his chest, already strumming its chords as he starts singing: “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”.

He’s probably propped his phone with something on a shelf: he’s sitting on his bed and David can see the wall behind it covered in rock band posters, Joe’s soft looking outfit consisting in a black extra-large t-shirt and shorts and he can distinguish the glinting of his snake bites and his septum piercing reflecting the light as he sways his head slightly while singing.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Websteeer…” he smiles, winking at the camera: “Happy birthday tooo youuu.” he concludes, abruptly interrupting the tune by pinching the instrument’s handle with all his fingers.

“Thank you.” he laughs softly.

“Where are you, baby? Can’t see shit, turn on the light.” says then Joe, squinting at the screen of his phone.

“Mmmh, too faaar. Sleepy.” he mumbles, groaning to underline his statement.

“Fine, go to sleep. See you tomorrow? Call me when you get up?” suggests Joe, smiling vaguely at the screen like he’s still trying to find David in the dark blurred shot.

“You’ll be asleep when I wake up, _Liebling_.” he warns.

“Don’t care. Wanna listen to a lullaby?” asks Joe, already back to strumming his ukulele.

David hums contentedly and murmurs: “_Ich liebe dich._”, making Joe blush as he starts singing another song, nice and slow.


End file.
